


The Pen Pal

by Lady_of_the_Flies



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Canon-Typical Violence, Gore, Hannibal Escapes, Hannibal is Hannibal, Kid Fic, M/M, Manipulative Hannibal, Murder Husbands, Original Character(s), Possessive Hannibal, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Post-Red Dragon, Someone Help Will Graham
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:38:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4038997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_the_Flies/pseuds/Lady_of_the_Flies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even though Hannibal was locked up miles away in Baltimore, he still had iron control over Will’s life…it didn’t seem to help Will’s loneliness at all, the fact that he always carried a part of Hannibal with him.<br/>So William Graham in his most deplorable state finally decided that the man who was responsible for permanently fucking up his life should finally pay up the massive debt he owed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This is my first Hannibal Fanfiction, hopefully it's nice...

        After the entire Tooth Fairy debacle, it didn't really surprise Will when Molly told him she had enough. The divorce wasn’t rough or disappointing. It was mutual and there was no alimony, just another marriage where they cared for each other but not enough to keep it going for any longer. Will was a bit sad about losing Willy though, their bond wasn't really very father-son but it was still a bond nonetheless and when bonds broke, hearts broke along with them.

           Molly had left Sugar-loaf key to him and that was a good thing since it took very long for him to adjust to new places. She and Willy were now under the care of her late first husband’s parents, good people who hated Will’s guts.

           After their not-so-tearful departure, Will took to adding more strays to his ever growing family of dogs and a lot more liquor bottles to his fridge. He also worked more, forced himself to at least try answering the questions of the fisherman at the port who wanted to befriend him.

It didn't seem to curb his loneliness though.

        It slithered into the folds of his brains right after Molly’s and Willy’s departure, slow and cold and heavy. He felt like how he had during those months after Hannibal gutted him and before Molly had come into his life, alone and heavy. The solitude made his body feel dense and useless, like a neutron star; not doing what a star ought to do.

         The scars that dug into the pale flesh of his face and abdomen made him feel worse; he never dared to look into the mirror and squeezed his eyes shut when he was at the barber’s to get his hair shorn and beard shaved.

           Still, it didn't seem to stop his nightmares.  They usually took place in Hannibal’s house and ended up with his face in shreds and Hannibal calling him _too ugly_. Will didn't know that those words would affect him so much but apparently Hannibal did and he felt miserable for letting that wretched man win yet again.

             Even though Hannibal was locked up miles away in Baltimore, he still had iron control over Will’s life…it didn’t seem to help Will’s loneliness at all, the fact that he always carried a part of Hannibal with him.

              So William Graham in his most deplorable state finally decided that the man who was responsible for permanently fucking up his life should finally pay up the massive debt he owed him.

           Will called Jack Crawford on a hot and sticky Sunday afternoon. It was one of those days where he was miraculously sober and level headed so he decided not to waste this fine day and immediately took to his outdated black landline after a lunch of potato mush and over cooked steak.

        “Will?” Jack’s voice seemed hesitant, probably didn’t want to deal with a neurotic ex-profiler on his day off.

“You owe me, remember?” Will forced himself to sound bitter instead of angry.

“How could I forget?” Jack sounded equally bitter but he deserved it.

“I-“He hesitated. Will didn't doubt Crawford’s ability to pay up his debts because he always did; he did doubt if what he was going to do was going to end up fucked up like the rest of his life.

“Will?” Jack pulled him out of the avalanche of doubts, giving him the last amounts of steel to reinforce his resolve.

“ I-I want t- I wish to adopt a kid.” Will hoped he sounded convincing enough.

   Jack’s stunned silence lasted for three whole minutes; he wondered what the other man thought he’d ask… money probably.

“Uh Will, you do know that isn't easy-” Jack’s long breaths were like rustling leaves through the receiver, the itch they caused was beginning to ruin the calmness the lovely summer breeze had bestowed upon him. “You’re in no condition to-“

“And whose fault do you think is it?” Will spat into the phone like an angry snake. “Who do you think introduced me to Ha-that monster, whose fault is it that I've got to spend the rest of my life looking like Harvey fucking Dent, huh?”

        Again, Jack’s pause lasted three minutes, his windpipe probably crushed under Will’s poisonous accusations.

   “Fine.” He finally managed to rasp out.

“What?” Will asked in surprise, he didn't know convincing Jack would be this easy.

“Next Saturday or never.” The former chief tried to anneal his guilt into cold aloofness but it didn’t seem to work.

“Yes.” Will breathed and hung up, Jack didn't need a goodbye.

         He looked around, at the messy hall, the dogs and the unkempt lawn outside. Some cleaning was to be done.

A tiny little smile creased his face; it was the first in a long time.

 

 

* * *

 

 

           The orphanage was a really old fashioned building in a really old fashioned part of Pennsylvania. The heavy grey clouds overhead added to the haunted look. Only the restless noises of the many children the eerie building housed seemed to dispel its insidiousness.

            The Glass doors, the only visible modern part in the building slid apart and swallowed Jack and himself in from out the rain. All at once the Nuns in the reception turned to them, their scrutinizing gaze upon him, Jack being almost completely ignored.

             They looked at him with such admiration and sympathy, it made him nauseous. He could see that they thought he had put Hannibal behind bars out of a sense of duty and a willingness to bring about justice. Truth was, the entire ordeal was to take revenge. If Hannibal hadn't slit Abigail’s throat… circumstances would differ greatly.

              He had spent several nights trying to forget imagined visions of himself and the cannibal in the bustling streets of Florence…but that was all before Frances Dolarhyde and he wasn't going to start thinking about events that would never come to be again.

            The Nuns introduced themselves, praised him for catching a monster and preached words from the bible while the oldest one rubbed a cross on his forehead with a gnarly finger.

            There was no use of Crawford coming all the way here to help with the adoption since apparently Freddie Lounds had surprisingly made him sound like the nation’s hero in her supposed ‘biography’ about him. Still, Will was happy for Jack’s presence, no one else could combat a bunch of swooning Nuns this easily. He had placed himself in front of Will with a fake grin on his face and batted of their praises for his supposedly noble deed with pointless introductions and questions on adoption while the ex-profiler worked on unclenching his fists and cleared off his murderous thoughts at being called a ‘hero’.

               A chubby strawberry blonde with an air of false contentment and happiness like most preachers introduced herself as Bridget and lead them through a pair of heavy and musty smelling oak doors and into a large hall teeming with squirming children of varying ages from three to ten. Jack remained a pillar at his side.

           “You've got perfect timing, Play time’s the only time the boys, girls and the ‘special’ children are together so we don’t have to herd them together.” Her sickly sweet voice made his head throb and her words made him want to murder her. Talking about segregation at such a young age in such a normal way, calling them lambs, the way she emphasized the word ‘special’ when she referred to the disabled. He could detect the loathing she carried for the job she did and all these children and he wanted to crucify her against the giant cross in the ominously coloured hall, to cleanse her.

              His eyes turned to the children in the room, all their hopeful eyes trained on him. He wanted to cry. He wanted to adopt every single one of them. His empathy seemed to swallow him whole. He remembered all those times he had spent alone, as a child and as an adult and it was so unfair.

             But he knew he could choose just one, life was unfair like that. He scanned the room and noticed a tiny bundle of red in a cosy corner by the fire place. He walked up to it.

            She was so tiny, crouched over a piece of paper and scribbling furiously. Her oversized red sweater provided cushiony comfort to her knees and her wild mass of curly hair was tamed into a ponytail.  

              The drawing was… the little artist was clearly talented, but the subject seemed entirely too morbid for a three year old. Maybe it was because the only colours there were reds, blacks and browns there. The drawing was that of an angel watching a girl drowning in brown muck with a wide grin on her face. He could feel the sense of abandonment-loneliness-indifference the delicate crayon marks emanated.

            She looked up from her work; her brown eyes were like deep endless pits of mossy sadness and murky loneliness. He wanted to make them pools of chocolate happiness. He didn’t notice Bridget trotting over and bumbling out the little girl’s bio.

         The Child’s gaze was directed at her, those murky pits seemed to turn dark with sticky unspeakable violence and Will knew he had to adopt this girl. If he didn’t, this world just might birth another murderer.

         “Her.” He said, barely above a whisper. Bridget stopped her chattering. The girl turned he gaze back to him, her head tilted a bit in curiosity.

             He knelt in front of her. He vaguely heard Bridget talking about the child being deaf. He gave her a tiny little smile and mouthed Will, pointing at himself.

            She grinned; the last incisor to the left was missing.     “Ta- Tall- Talia.”  Her voice was hoarse from disuse and she had to roll her tongue over the alphabets multiple times to make sure they sounded right.

            He could already imagine the times they would have, the fish they would catch, the dogs they would adopt and all those terrible old memories they would murder together.

         He smiled a bit wider, enjoying the happiness of wading in the chocolate brown pools that were her eyes.

   “Her, it’s her.”

* * *

 

                           It was boring. The same four walls every day, the disgusting sound of Miggs Masturbating in the next cell, the insults that the new guards passed at him for some sort of thrill like as if they were zookeepers trying to taunt an angry Lion, the same tasteless mulch that they called food and the occasional psychiatrist hoping to understand the inner workings of his mind. It was all so vapid! He had never experienced such tedium in his life and it was starting to saturate his stagnant mind. He had found out that harassing Chilton wasn't a way to keep sane after he tore up that nurse’s face in a fit of savagery.

                 He was appalled by how small a span it had taken for his mind to start withering away, it made him regret falling into the jagged depths of emotion so easily.  He had known Will would be a risky gamble from the beginning, if he wasn't addled by that heady concoction of possession and obsession he would've killed him.

             It wasn't just the confines of this chrysalis that was crushing his sanity; it was his undying hunger for Will. He needed to break free from his cage, needed to breathe in the heavy scent of instability; taste the loathing Will would have for him and revel in how he would always belong to him.

                   The desire for freedom seeped into the cracks of his insanity, made him calmer. He would wait till they made a mistake.

                                                                                     And along came young Clarice Starling and a little treat from a ‘fan’.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this in a hurry, hopefully there aren't any major mistakes.

The trip home made Will pour sweat out of his pores like as if he were a waterfall. He and Jack had parted on amicable terms, if a farewell and a threat to never contact him ever again could be called amicable. Talia’s tiny fist in his own big calloused ones wasn’t enough to make the whole thing not seem surreal. He picked her up and paused to see if she was okay with it. She tilted her head curiously; _her face was so very expressive._

          He put her head against his shoulder awkwardly; he really wasn’t good with this. She quickly snuggled against his jacket and his heart fluttered at the minor victory. He hoped he wasn’t getting any sweat on her, his nervousness was still very much present, buzzing at the ends of his nerves.

           Boarding the plane was pretty successful, given the fact that his want to gauge out the eyes of every person who was staring at Talia and himself and his nervousness was making the perfect cocktail to scramble his brain into a colossal mess of insanity. But the little girl in his arms kept him grounded and calmed his frazzled nerves.

               The road ahead didn’t seem that bad anymore. His nervousness disappeared, the gawking people forgotten. It was just Talia and himself in a plane that was supposed to make him claustrophobic and sweaty and messed up instead of happy and light and eager to learn a bit of sign.

                Somewhere, in a dark and dusty part of his meninges, Hannibal, murder and a future that never took place still lurked…

* * *

 

        Clarice Starling was a promising individual, a ticket to the outside world and a potential pupil. Not many odds were against him, in fact, the only thing standing between him and benefiting from his brief truce with the FBI was Chilton. The man was suspicious and overlooked every little scrap that little Clarice sent him. It was going to be difficult but he had years of practiced patience to escape this. And Chilton was very easy to distract.

                          The case was proceeding at a snail’s pace, he withheld information on purpose, dragging it out as much as possible to reap more benefits. The hospital staff and Chilton’s half-baked assumption that he had killed Miggs out of some sort of twisted affection for the young detective added to his advantages. He just couldn’t tolerate such disgusting behaviour towards a woman; he didn’t expect these so-called psychiatrists to understand; only Will ever could.

                      It was quite a mundane day when the letter arrived.

                             It was perfectly disguised among the newspapers and medical journals as a cooking recipe, the orderly hardly gave it a glance. Hannibal settled into the rickety stool that was sure to give away if it wasn’t bolted to the floor. He carefully moved his latest work; Hades spiriting away Persephone and settled the recipe on the cold metal.

             Deciphering the code was simple; the person who sent this must’ve spent months learning this.

               He held back the feral grin that wanted to rip free from the strain he forced upon his ligament and pulled his drawing out in front of him instead.

               He erased Persephone and drew in Will instead.

* * *

 

                 The Floridian air jostling his hair and the moisture settling heavily against his shoulders was akin to someone welcoming a long lost lover. He was so akin to the humidity that Pennsylvania’s biting cold had swollen his throat quite a bit.

               The ride home was a ruminative one, Talia drooling over his shoulder and letting out whistling snores. Sugarloaf key wasn’t in a very urban area; he had to move into the city.

He had enough to start anew, more than enough actually. Moving out would also mean being completely untraceable to Hannibal.

          The last string tying him to Hannibal would be severed completely, he would be free.

            The thought wasn’t as comforting as it was supposed to be. It kept irritating the ends of his nerves as he burrowed in closer to Talia, so close that it was impossible to say who was holding on to who.

* * *

 

          The house was very tiny compared to the orphanage. It wasn’t scary though and it had ten dogs! They weren’t scary like the sisters had told her; they looked at her with big black eyes and sniffed at her toes. She bent down and patted some of their heads for which she got a sloppy kiss in return. She giggled and settled down on the woody carpet-less floor, answering the affection showered upon her.

          The vibrations against the floorboards alerted her about Will’s presence. Her new papa was very nervous and tended to fidget a lot. He had apologized a gazillion times for thinking she was three when she was actually five and even after that he took to restlessly scratching his hand till the skin turned red. It was funny but she didn’t want him to be nervous forever.

               She smiled up at him. He smiled back and picked her up. He seemed to like it when her head was nestled against his chest, she liked it too. She felt like she was a part of the world again, like how she felt before she lost her hearing.

             It was strange how she lost her hearing. The sisters kept telling her she’d be fine if she prayed but she knew that wasn’t true. Most of the kids in the orphanage believed that God would help them because they hoped to get adopted into a good family and the nuns and sisters made them believe that God was merciful and that he would bestow good things upon them if they behaved.

                  Talia never believed if for as long as she could remember. God sounded scary, scarier than the parents who had abandoned her. He would punish you if you didn’t pray to him; he would punish you even if you did. She prayed to him every day and all she got was deafness. At least she was better off than Jill and Deena… the infection had come along with a new orphan, she had died a week after passing it to the three of them. Jill couldn’t walk and Deena slept for so many weeks and died. Jill never spoke after that, she would just stare at the children in the playground with a worn out bible clutched to her chest. After that illness, church was a nightmare. She would stare up at that big statue of Jesus, waiting for God to grab the cross upon which his son was pinned to and driving it into her stomach.

                    No more of that now, she was far away from there with her new papa and ten dogs that loved her and would never hurt her. She clutched on to her papa’s shirt and sighed.

                

 

* * *

 

                             Hannibal spread the neat piece of paper over the cold steel table in his frigid cell and wrote down a recipe in neat cursive. To a professional, the dish would be a disaster with the excessive amount of spices and condiments that was listed but since the letter was only going to be checked by the orderlies and Chilton, the code was very far from the danger of being deciphered.

          He looked at the drawing of Hades abducting will and smiled.

* * *

 

               Will had found a beautiful cottage by the sea in Tampa Bay. It was just an hour’s drive to Talia’s school and was really close to a port.

          The move didn’t really impact Talia in anyway; she had just moved to Sugarloaf and didn’t mind the sudden shift for her education. He on the other hand couldn’t explain the feeling he experienced walking out of the doors of that house.

       That night when he lay in bed, the sound of the waves lulling him to sleep he dreamt of Hannibal. He was in the living room back at Sugarloaf Key, motor boat parts strewn all over the floor and his dogs chewing what looked like a shrivelled up corpse. Hannibal was at the doorway, moonlight making his eyes shine like garnets. He made his way towards Will, prowling like a lion he stalking his prey.

        Will was taking long shuddering breaths as Hannibal came closer. He stood in front of him now, almost touching. He knelt down; garnet eyes now a murky, grimy maroon. He nuzzled down into the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply. Will’s breathing stuttered; he could feel the grin against his skin, those sharp pearly white teeth skimming against the goose flesh erupting there. “Will…” Hannibal breathed. He sounded starved. His palms shook as they shucked up his shirt and ran over the disfigured flesh of his abdomen. Will hissed. He wanted to give this man hell for ruining his life, for making him unfit for a family and for making him see good in the devil. Instead he shivered at the touch, his hands still immobile at his sides.

                      “Too _ugly_.” Hannibal’s fingers dug into the scar, finger nails too sharp. Will jerked with a yelp, Hannibal was now obsidian black. If those dark grimy eyes were indecipherable, these pearly white ones was a complete wall. Those claw-like arms dug deeper into the twisted flesh. Will cries out and tries to pry them off “Ha-“.

                 “Too _UGLY.”_  Antlers had sprouted from his head, one end jabbing against the scar on his cheek. His inhuman face split into a wide grin, black gums oozing against pearl white teeth. _”_ _What a collection of scars you have. Never forget who gave you the best of them, and be grateful; our scars have the power to remind us that the past was real…”_ His disembodied voice rattled against the brittle bones of his rib cage. The creature that was Hannibal had him pinned; all he could do was scream out. The antler got lodged into his cheek, tearing the flesh out with every movement.  Hannibal brought Will’s face closer to his, the antler taking of a chunk of flesh with it. “I am coming for you...” his voice was as dry as the leaves that would crunch under his feet back in Wolf Creek. “My Will.”

            He was dragged out of that god awful living room by a pair of tiny hands. Talia was wailing uncontrollably, hands clutching at his night shirt.

          “There, there.” Will coaxed, gathering her in his arms and turning on the night lamp. He rocked her a bit and hummed some nonsensical lullaby…immediately feeling like an idiot because she obviously couldn’t hear. 

               She looked up at him and pouted as soon as he stopped. He blinked.

            Maybe the vibrations were soothing her. He continued his lullaby, rocking her gently and keeping her head pressed against his chest.

           Gradually the two were coaxed back into sleep’s arms, no nightmares to accompany them this time. Will’s last thought before sleep blanketed him completely was _‘everything’s going to be fine.’_

* * *

 

                          Hannibal waited patiently in his little fibre reinforced cage, a new sketch of Will in a field full of corpses lay by his side.

* * *

 

                School was nice. The other kids understood sign too, they had really long conversations and the teacher let them because it improved their ‘social skills’. She would ask Papa what that meant later.

             In the final hour, the teacher, Ms. Mathias brought in a box. It was full of letters.

             She explained that these people were called pen pals and that they were from other cities. They would help them improve communication skills (She had to ask Papa what that meant as well).

              The letters were distributed; the letter she got was rougher than normal paper and was yellowing at the sides.

_Hello,_

_I am Edmond. Let’s be friends._

 

 

* * *

 

                        Miles away in Baltimore, Hannibal smiled at his finished piece.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooo sorry for the late update and not replying to your reviews!  
> So here's chapter 3, I pray you like it ^^  
> Two more Chapters to go and maybe an omake  
> I'm working on three other Hannigram fics so look forward to more from me :D

**Weeks Later**

_Hello Edmond,_

_How are you? Is your mummy still giving you bad food? I hope she’s letting you out of your room, my papa says that playing outside when it’s sunny gives you vitamin D. He says it makes you strong. Tell that to your mummy, she might listen. Papa doesn’t go to Church; I don’t have to see that statue anymore so I don’t get bad dreams. Do you get scared of things? I asked Papa if he’s scared of something. He said he’s afraid of monsters. Have you ever seen monsters? I checked under my bed but I didn’t find any. That’s a good thing. I’m going to have grilled fish for dinner today. I hope your Mummy cooks something good today. Bye Bye!_

_Your Friend,_

_Talia Graham._

      Will smiled. Talia was a comparatively easy child to deal with. Hardships always gave one tougher skin. That didn’t stop the tantrums though; just an hour ago Talia had rolled around on the dirty living room carpet wailing because she wanted a pet dinosaur (He was never going to show a single Jurassic Park movie again) and three days before he had to force her to spit out dog food that she had secretly tried to munch. Well, parenting wasn’t supposed to be easy... 

     Tantrums and fussy food habits apart, what really worried Will was Talia’s really bad habit of keeping secrets, he had thought it was because of her deafness at first, that the inability to speak prevented her from expressing her mind since sign language and pieces of paper wasn’t enough. After spending some time with her though, he learned that she was generally just a very silent person. It was supposed to be fine, he was a quiet child as well but he just felt a bit unsettled that he’d have to rummage over her things like a thief to learn of the thing she was afraid of. 

   He folded the letter, a bit guilty for peeking at her letter and correcting the grammatical errors in it and went to make dinner and interrupt Talia’s _Adventure Time_ marathon.

   He shook off the worry, everything was going to be okay.

* * *

   Talia was an interesting child. Full of life, random and a brain addled with curiosity just like any other child her age. She was clearly very secretive though, unlike most children and she was also good at convincing others that she wasn’t hiding anything about herself. Life in the orphanage had taught her well, but not enough. He suddenly desired to teach this child to hunt, to feel the thrill of the chase and to mask the rawness of human nature with the mask of human ‘culture’. He had always wanted to ‘change’ people, to join him and make him feel less lonely but this... This was different, he didn’t want to change this child, he wanted to teach her his ways, he wanted her to hunt alongside him and maybe succeed him one day.

  He greatly miscalculated this; the plan needed a few modifications. Also, Clarice Starling was such an interesting individual, a rare Camborough among a swine of common American Hogs- No, not meat. Clarice had potential, a shepherd protecting her sheep from the dangerous wilderness outside that warm little pasture and the wolves that lurked in it. Then again, God made that shepherd (Jesus) and the sheep and the wolves and the wilderness and the world. He was god, he could make the shepherd hunger after his own herd, and he could turn the sheep to wolves and the shepherds to sheep. 

_“He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul; He guides me in the paths of righteousness For His name's sake.”_

  The words continued to float around in the confines of his skull like the sweet serenade of Bach as he listened and answered Clarice’ questions, the scent of Will that had survived through the stench of the Ward boys, Alana and his ‘ _postman’_ wafted into his nostrils from the letter, leaving no room for the scent of Clarice’ cheap perfume to enter. 

   Will had, willingly or unwillingly, always been quite a bit possessive of Hannibal. It wasn’t really surprising that his scent was too.

* * *

  Clarice was pissed. Lecter was leading her on, giving her scraps of information instead of the whole picture, wasting everyone’s time. Too bad he worked her neurons raw, helped her come to conclusions on her own. He had introduced her to potential; so much of it and it was so tempting. 

  Crawford hadn’t told her the whole story with Lecter and (former) special agent Graham so she had done a little snooping. It had frightened her, how close Lecter was to making agent Graham his toy. Maybe Graham already was... it was pointless investing that side of the story since it was an unspoken rule never to even mention Graham’s name in and around Quantico. 

 She would not shatter like Graham and she wouldn’t melt and be melded into a pet by Hannibal. She was going to crack this ‘Buffalo Bill’ case, then go to some fancy ass place with Aradia and drink till she forgot about this shithole loony bin and that monster in a flimsy little bird cage. 

 “The FBI’s got a deal for you.” She started; trying to get his eyes off the letter he was reading (sniffing?). “You help us solve the case, we’ll get you transferred.” Hannibal’s eyes finally stared at her, dark and grimy and ready to swallow her up.” A bigger cell, a window, a walk outside if you’re lucky...” She trailed off; the look in Lecter’s eyes seemed hungry. She feared that he looked right through this stupid last minute lie. “No.” he said, calm and collected and sat on the cheap steel chair that was bolted to the ground. He looked like a king ready for a huge feast to begin. “Tell me about yourself, Clarice. Something you’ve never told anyone.” His lips were stretched into this odd-almost there-smile. It only served to make him more inhuman. Clarice just stared, dumbfounded and unable to look away from those murky eyes. “Tell me about your father.” He said, stroking the letter that he still had with him. “You tell me things, I tell you things, Quid pro quo my dear.” 

  For a few seconds, Clarice grabbed all the courage she could find and held on to it with an iron fist. She took a deep breath and started. She told him of all she remembered of her father, her mother and her time in Montana. The tears that threatened to flood her, she reined back and god! Her face hurt from it but she wasn’t going to break under Lecter. She mustn’t. 

  Lecter dry, dark lips stretched a bit more, he was taking this up as a challenge she guessed. Together they speculated on Buffalo Bill’s identity and there! She felt it again! -All that potential that Lecter was capable of getting her to use. So very tempting... 

They had made a bit off a progress, not as much as she wished but progress none the less. She just hoped Buffalo Bill hadn’t had his way with his latest victim yet. For a moment she had a brief imagery of Lecter and Graham solving this case. Graham was a mere shadow in her mind-well- a shadow with a dress since he was Bill now, a woman in a man’s body. She imagined him in a trance as he danced around in an imagined crime scene, Lecter looming behind him. Is this how Graham felt when he was with Lecter? So..Liberated?

  She gave her thoughts a mental shake. Look where all that left Graham. 

She stepped out of BHSCI, inhaling the sweet night air and chasing away the stench of piss that the other inmates in their own birdcages carried. She was surprised Dr. Bloom still looked so sane after seeing so much madness; maybe she was one of the many others she had met after joining the academy, masked and wary. 

 She got into the borrowed Camry and sped away, unaware of several, several things.

* * *

_Dear Talia,_

_I am fine, How are you? My mummy’s food is still bad and she thinks if she lets me out I will scare the other children. Good! You don’t have to be afraid anymore. I’m afraid of many things but the thing I get scared most of is being forgotten. I think my best friend forgot me. I want to see him. I am planning to. We can meet too. I want to have your daddy’s tasty food._

_Your Friend,_

_Edmond L._

  Talia didn’t understand why Papa looked so scared reading Edmond’s letter. He crushed it to his chest, breathing too hard. ‘Papa?’ she signed. He threw the letter aside and clutched her hard. She clutched him back still confused.

He let her go, knelt down and ruffled her hair, his hands settling on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry’ he mouthed, close to tears.(why?) He got up, lifting her up with him. He put her head against his heart, the feeling of it thumping against her ear always put her at ease. She didn't understand but she felt things would be fine. 

Papa made his way down, his walk was all wobbly as they headed to the door. The door opened before he even reached for it. The sun was blocked out by a large person. Talia couldn’t make out a face since the lights in the hall were switched off. She did make out a pair of eyes though, dark and scary. 

Like the dead eyes of Christ pinned to a wooden cross. 

“Hello Will, Talia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't write the dialogues between Hanni and Clarice 'cause I thought it was better in the books.  
> The Lady of the Flies can be contacted here: http://suu-the-musing-shadow.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> A friend of mine recently fell victim to deafness and this Oc made him smile so I'll surely be updating this fic for him. He can make out words by following lip movement, so I put a bit of that there.


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